Asho, Asho. Asho Walah Asho....

Yo - where is February 29? Why do I have to pay rent already?

Did anyone get a copy of Kuwait Life magazine, February issue? There is an article on Kuwaiti blogs. Of course, mine is not mentioned, but there are many cleaver quotes. There is also an interesting account of the occupation as remembered by one of my favorite authors. If you are interested in either, send me an e-mail and I’ll send you a copy (amerab@gmail.com).

I can’t find my Miami 1996 tape. Does anyone know where I can get one? Virgin has every single Miami tape since 1994, but not 96. That is my favorite: the one with Asho on it (now, it'll be stuck in my head all day), but I actually prefer some of the other songs – they are so cool to listen to on a boat (no, not the 1kd boat). I guess I have to drive around like an idiot till I find one. I went to a few stores and I always get that look and the guy says, “That’s old.” Well yeah, no duuuuh. The nice guys at the music shop down the street aren’t there anymore or I would ask them. They would find it for me!

I love our coffee guys at work. Just when I need them – they appear. Kudos to coffee guys. I know it sounds extremely lazy to Westerners out there that we don’t get up and make our own damn coffee, but that is the coffee guys’ job – to get coffee. They don’t even let me near the kitchen to make it myself. Therefore, I cannot feel guilty, now can I? We are so spoiled in Kuwait. How could I ever go back to the way it was before?

Ok, at least at my sister’s house in the US, she has maid day too (mine is Sunday – hers is Wednesday). Her maids come in a team of 4 (big house) and she has to lock her big dogs up. My maid is mainly delegated to do the things that I HATE (dishes, floors, and folding clothes). I can do pretty much everything else (but I don’t).

I love being able to call the guys at the baqala down the street and having them bring me stuff that I need to make dinner (or whatever). In the States, it would cost a fortune: minimum wage, plus gas, plus insurance for both the employee and the car, plus taxes, plus surcharges for heavy lifting, plus mileage, etc. etc.

My mother is having her hip replaced tomorrow. My family insists that I don’t need to go back. I’m feeling like I should be on a plane right now. I’m outa here if they call me.

L finally got some last night. Whew. I think that a Prozac probably would have had the same affect, but the alternative was probably more enjoyable. Enough said about that.

I want to go back to the desert this weekend. I’m thinkin picnic in Mutlaa at sunset. It is gorgeous up there with the light on the rocks. Maybe I’ll roast an onion up there and catch a dhub. Tee hee. I can see the look on MuslimArtist’s face now.

When we went out on “our boat” (1kd pontoon boat) the other day, my friend, Wahabi, who owns several yachts caught me out on it. That was like THE embarrassing moment of this year so far. I only noticed him because I was checking out his handsome friend, standing on the dock. I’ve known Wahabi for years, but he and his brother did something to royally piss me off, so I haven’t talked to them since the 1st week of Ramadan. [My wallet was stolen from my car and I had NO ID, NO ATM cards, NO credit cards, and NO money. I asked to BORROW (as in 'not keep') some money and they wouldn’t answer their phone. Mu Kuwaiteen? You know your friends when you need them.] Anyways, they were my Kubbar buddies. Wahabi has this compulsion to remove his swimming trunks and moon everyone around. Now, if he had a nice butt, that would be great, but it is NASTY. We spent the night out on the boat one time and I woke up in the morning to see him walking neked around Kubbar with his trunks on his head. Ayeb. Feshla. Ow badein - Macu faydeh.

I know everyone will want to hear about this: In their endeavors to rip up everything in Salmiya, the construction dudes tore through water pipes to my building the other night. Yesterday morning, I washed in bottled water. Now, that’s just adding insult to injury. I already have to tippy-toe across the mud puddles and ick to get to my car (which I have to park in the mud flats across the street). I have to put up with numerous men who can’t use walkies or phones for communication, but rather shout, “M’HAMAAAAD!!!” (the dude’s name is ALWAYS Mohammed. I don’t know why.) I have to put up with that thumping machine that they use and that drilling thingy. But then – no water. That is so frickin STU-PID. Every morning, I go out there to the guy who looks most likely to be “manager in charge” and say, “Lesh? Lesh?” Yesterday, it was, “Lesh mafi my?” They just laugh at me (crazy foreigner!)

Ok, I have nothing more to complain about today. Latah.